


Stay

by IshaRen



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, Kylo Ren Angst, Obsessive Kylo, POV Kylo Ren, Rey is here for the intel, Secret Relationship, Traitor Kylo, Treasonous vacation, or is she?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 01:18:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7664713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IshaRen/pseuds/IshaRen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fateful battle on Starkiller Base, Kylo Ren and Rey face each other again and again, neither able to fully triumph over the other. Over time the passion of their duels takes a new direction. Their secret encounters are just a guilty pleasure in the moment until Kylo wants more. What will he need to give up to get her to stay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

“Stay,” he says, watching as she dresses, enjoying the way the soft evening light frames her. She wraps her leather belt around her waist and cinches it tight, then calls her lightsaber to her hand from where it fell and hooks it on her left side.

She looks at him without looking, her eyes focusing somewhere on his bare collarbone. “I can’t,” she says. Final.

It was true. They will already be looking for her. “Meet me somewhere else then.” He means it as a statement but to his annoyance it comes out a question.

That startles her into meeting his eyes. “No,” she says, but she’s half-smiling as she turns and walks away.

* * * * * * *

 

The next time there are no others with her. They are alone in a dead forest, trees long desiccated and fossilized into stone. A dry wind blows hot, yet doesn’t seem to warm him. They circle one another in a clearing, lightsabers leaving scorch marks but never cutting through the rocky branches.

The ground is hard beneath them, parched soil packing itself into something unyielding. He sits so she won’t have to, pushing his robes under her knees to give her softness as she rides him.

“Stay,” he says again after, this time before she dresses. Twin suns blaze at her back leaving her face in shadow. He hears her quick breath but she shakes her head.

“Here?” She looks around at the silent forest where life is only a memory held in stone and amber, all the water blown away.

“There’s a bed in my shuttle.” It’s the wrong thing to say and the amusement on her face dries into the breeze.

* * * * * * *

 

He doesn’t see her for months after that. Then he stops for fuel at a small outpost in neutral territory and somehow she is there doing the same. Their eyes meet across a landing platform lit up bright by three low hanging moons. The durasteel surface of it is pitted and scorched from too many messy takeoffs and landings.

There is a cantina nearby, not too busy this late and they find themselves sitting across a table from each other for the first time.

Her hair is longer and her face has filled out a little from regular meals. He doesn’t wear his mask in public anymore except when he is going into battle. It used to be a necessary comfort but it hides him and he always wants to be ready to see her.  


“Where are you going?” she asks, not really expecting an answer.

He seizes the question like a lifeline. She’s giving him a way in. “I’m on my way to meet a battalion of Stormtroopers for an attack on a Resistance Base.” The words slide out easily, belying the sleepless nights it took to work up to forming them in his mouth.

Her lips part and she blinks. “Which one?” He can see her running through a list of possibilities in the sector in her mind.

He smiles. “Guess.”

His blade is in his hand and swinging up smoothly to meet hers as she tries to direct it at his throat. The room is silent apart from the hum of their weapons. The other two or three customers shuffle off; it’s the kind of place where no one wants to get involved. The bartender has disappeared too and they are alone.

“Tell me,” she says and there is power behind it.

He smiles wider, thinking of the power of words, what they can do and mean. “Stay with me tonight and I will.”

* * * * * * *

 

In the morning he tells her and she turns away to fumble with her datapad to send the message. When she breathes out again, he comes to stand behind her. He puts a hand on her belly and his lips to her neck.

“Have you ever seen a waterfall?” he whispers in her ear. This is the right choice, the only choice.

She leans into him a little. “No.”

They hire speeders from a shop beside the cantina and find their way through the jungle. The paths are clearly marked and there are signs for tourists in at least ten languages. She drives fast, almost as reckless as he is and when they pull up at the edge of the lake her cheeks are glowing and her eyes bright.

She loves the waterfall. He has seen others more impressive; wider, taller, more water. This one is not high and the water only flows over the rocks like someone is pouring it from a jug, not funneling it out in a thunderous crash.

Away from the falls itself the water is shallow but shaded by the cliff rocks into a dark, rippling mirror that reflects the greenery above. It’s a lovely spot but despite the signs and paths inviting visitors, no one else has come to bathe.

She undresses quickly and slips in the water up to her neck. His chest tightens when he looks at the peaceful concentration on her face as she swims. The water is cool but not unpleasant. When he holds her she wraps her legs around him and she is slippery and smooth and warm.

* * * * * * *

 

He meets his troops and goes in for the attack but the Resistance base is inexplicably deserted. He makes sure he’s seen tearing up the command centre in frustration.

When he gets back to the Finalizer he doesn’t wash his hair for a few days, keeping the scent of the lake water around his face under his helmet. A secret thrill when Hux barks at him. A secret comfort when he reports his failure to the Supreme Leader.

A report comes in, an attack planned at one of their key supply depots. He takes a large force but most of their fighting is done in the air. Screaming TIEs slash at the formations of X-Wings covering a small ground team who go in to take down the shield protecting the buildings.

She is there of course, blade flashing in one hand, the other outstretched to push and pull objects or people through the air. He salutes her with his own weapon and they engage. Slowly he guides her away from the shield generator, away from the others and into a field of long grass. She bares her teeth at him as they grunt and batter at each other: she knows what he’s doing and allows it.

Then she makes a move he hasn’t seen before, a sharp swivel into a low kick that unexpectedly has him down in the coarse grass. The ground is soft and damp; it rains often here and thoroughly. He can feel his robes absorbing water and he wonders if the smell of wet vegetation will linger in the cloth like the waterfall did in his hair.

Her saber is at his throat and he squints up at her face. The light is behind her again. She extinguishes the blade and extends her hand. He takes it but then jerks her down to him. She presses the catches that release his helmet with practiced ease and finally their mouths can meet. He sighs into her and her hands tangle in his hair.

This time they are quick and frenzied, both anxious to make up for lost weeks. That long, luxurious night broke something that was only just holding together since the first time.

“Stay,” he says as she moves above him. Then repeats it into her neck after, when she’s collapsed against him and he’s still inside her. He licks the word into her skin, marks it into her with his teeth, mouths it on her shoulder. He wants to cover her whole body in the word until a net of _stays_ closes around her and it comes true.

“What will you give me this time?” Her tone is teasing but she draws back and looks at him directly.

“Come with me and I will give you the codes to drop the shields.” It’s easy to be a traitor, harder to think about it than to be it.

She hisses in a breath. It’s obvious that the Resistance is outgunned and outnumbered this time. No doubt her team is concentrating on getting out alive, the mission objective abandoned in a rush for survival.

He watches her face as she calculates. “I have a mission from my Master on Ord Mantell. I’ll meet you in five days.”

* * * * * * *

 

It’s not unknown for him to take his shuttle and disappear. No one but the Supreme Leader dares to question him. He thinks for the first time about disappearing forever, not going back, _staying_ with her wherever she goes. The dream of it occupies his mind until the second day of hyperspace when he starts to wonder if she will keep her word.

He waits forever in the room he booked under a false name in a small casino in the capital city. The knock at the door is the sweetest sound he has ever heard. Her smile is hesitant. Before, they could pretend they were caught up in the moment, that nothing meaningful happened, not much was at stake. But this is deliberate, planned, _bargained_. He can’t mess this up, can’t spook her.

He is already dressed for dinner and judging her shyness correctly, leaves her to change in the room. They meet on a balcony overlooking the ocean. The evening air is warm and smells of salt and hot city. He’s wearing a dark businessman’s suit; she wears a simple dress in shades of pastel.

As soon as he sees her again he is dying to take her back to the room. Their agreement was only that they would meet here. How many nights will she give him? It’s tantalizing to not know, to have to earn each night as if he is painstakingly stringing pearls onto a necklace as she slowly hands him one at a time.

They sit outside in the open air, watching each other’s faces in the soft light. The food is excellent: fresh fish and lightly cooked vegetables. For dessert they share a bowl of berries with cream and crushed biscuits. She savours everything, eating slowly. 

Her eyes close at each first bite of something new like she’s memorizing the flavours and textures to be tasted again later.

They’ve never sat down like this before and really talked. There is so much to learn and so much to avoid. Little moments sting him with pain: when his mother is mentioned, or her Master, or the _traitor_ who is now a dear friend. He sees the same in her when he speaks of his Master, or returning to the First Order, or of Starkiller Base.

The pain sparks between them when he refers to his father, just once. But the sound of the water below is washing away the past, each slow wave sweeping over their battered souls to cleanse them of who they were before. It all happened to other people, not the quiet businessman with his beautiful companion. The two of them in this place are raw and new; the only things filling them are the delicious food and their longing for each other.

* * * * * * *

 

Cool pink light slices in the room from the spaces between the curtains. He watches her sleep, her face relaxed and soft. Something trembles inside him, an emotion he won’t name. If she would agree to stay with him they could disappear together. His thoughts are audacious; he dares to think the unimaginable. How can it be that someone like her would allow him close? He deserves many things but not this softness.

When he wakes again she isn’t in the bed and he sits up in panic, thinking she has left him. But no, she is standing naked by the window looking out into the day. The light is still pink, filtered by the heavy cloud cover. Their room is on the opposite side to the balcony where they ate and there are mountains visible in the distance.

Gently he turns her around, kneeling in front of her and taking hold of her hips. “No,” she says as he breathes her in. He freezes. His mind has to be formed back into a solid from the liquid it was melting into.

“I want to look at the mountains.” She is flushing with embarrassment but he lets out the breath he’s been holding. Relieved.

* * * * * * *

 

A transport takes them to a restaurant at the closest mountain peak for lunch. The building is wooden and capped with snow. There are drifts of it here and there and she crunches over to stand ankle deep. They had stopped on the way to the transport to buy warm coats. She raises her hood then leans down and expertly packs a snowball.

Checking first that there’s no one around to see, she levitates the snowball over to him, then swings it in a teasing circle around his head before suddenly plunging it down the back of his neck. He makes an undignified squawking sound and the war is on.

They are both soaked and laughing by the time they make it into the restaurant. There’s a large open fire and the host smiles knowingly at their snow-caked hair and coats and seats them right beside it.

He subtly uses the Force to dry his clothing but leaves his hair to dry by the warmth of the fire. She opens her mouth as she senses what he’s doing then copies him.

“I didn’t know that was possible,” she says.

He smiles and asks her how she learned to make snowballs.

“From Finn,” she says, her face lighting up like it does whenever she talks about the traitor. “We were at a base on—” She cuts herself off abruptly.

Unbidden, his mind starts listing snowy planets that might be suitable for a Resistance base. She sees him thinking and frowns. A moment later, she stands up and excuses herself to go the fresher. She’s gone a long time and he starts to fret that she has run away.

One of the frequent small earthquakes the region is known for spurs him up and out of his chair to look for her. She is outside, back against the log-beam wall of the restaurant building. He leans beside her.

“What am I doing here?” she mumbles in a way that makes him certain it’s a constant refrain in her head.

His father would have cracked a joke to try to lighten the moment. _“Eating lunch?”_ he would have quipped. His mother would not have laughed. Her eyes would have sparked and an argument would start that would only end in strained silence for his sake, _“Don’t argue in front of the boy.”_

His temper came from his mother and hers was from her father. It was something he had from his grandfather, one thing he tried to believe was a gift. _Anger is power_ , he repeats in his own loop. Where is his anger now? He only feels desperation that she might go.

“Stay for lunch and I’ll tell you three Senators who secretly support the First Order,” he says quickly. When did it become _the First Order_ and not, _us_?

Her mouth twists. “What is this? What are we doing?”

“You’re getting information from the enemy,” he says. “Information that can help your friends.”

She examines her gloves. “I always said I would never sell myself,” she mutters.

“No. No. That’s not what this is,” he insists.

“What is it then?”

He swallows and stares out at the mountains in the distance and feels his heart beating. The pale pink light on the white snow is beautiful. He has already made a choice. This moment is only a formality, putting a stamp on work already begun. Here is where he will turn back, appropriately surrounded by white and the soft pink of the light and of Rey.

It’s the second moment of his life where everything shifts. The first time it had been night and the dark choice had seemed simple. This time it is white and light and it should be simple again, but he is tainted now by darkness, an inky stain on the pristine snow. The words don’t matter to him but she does. He is a creeping black mold growing over her: _stay stay stay_. He had wanted to make a net with his words to catch her but instead he was the net closing in around her all this time.

He looks at her, tries not to imagine her face blackening, her body writhing in agony as she is crushed by the net of him. He should tell her to go. Next time they meet on the battlefield he would kill her. No, better, let her kill him. Then he wouldn’t have to live knowing he was the one that stole her light from the galaxy.

He should tell her to go. “Stay,” he says.

Their eyes meet and she nods slowly. “Five Senators,” she says.

* * * * * * *

 

Days pass. Every night he whispers _stay_ in her ear and gives her another tidbit. Senators, planets, bases, access codes, weapons, bank accounts…all fall from his treasonous lips. She duly passes on the information and then they can forget about it until the next evening.

They go sailing on the ocean and catch huge fish with bright iridescent scales. They play games all night at the casino, losing and gaining back his stolen credits. They swim in the pink-tinted waters of a mountain lake that’s so clear they can see right to the bottom. They watch a concert of air dancers, spinning through the darkness accompanied by strange haunting music. She is captivated by everything and he is utterly captivated by her.

There is much silence between them but already it feels comfortable and well-worn. They can have passion without the drama that always surrounded his parents. Their kind of loneliness is soothed by quiet gasps in the dark, her hand in his hair, his arms around her as they sleep.

He can’t get enough of her and fears every day she will be tired of his hands on her, his mouth always seeking hers. But she seems to want him as much, her hands sliding under his shirt to stroke the pitted valleys of the scarred flesh on his side from the bowcaster, her clever fingers surrounding him, rousing him in the middle of the night to come into the place inside her that is now his. They have both been hungry for so long and they feast on each other.

* * * * * * *

 

He sees the summons one morning as he is checking his datapad while Rey sends her message. A foray is planned to what is believed to be the main Resistance base and he is needed to lead it. Skywalker is suspected to be there as well as his apprentice, the Force-user Rey.

She settles into his lap as he reads and rests her head against his shoulder. Absentminded, he drops a kiss onto the top of her head. He only hesitates for a moment before showing her the message. She sits up to read it and frowns.

“Is the location correct?” he asks carefully. He never asks questions about the Resistance, doesn’t want to know anything.

She chews her lip and looks away. “I should pass this on,” she says, moving to get up.

“Wait.” He pulls her back down. “This is top level classified. The symbol here means it’s not to be communicated to anyone else yet. Only a handful of people will know. You can’t tell anyone. Not yet.”

“Your mother is there. Master Luke is there. I have to warn them.” She squirms again and tries to escape the cage of his arms.

“Wait,” he repeats. “It’s too soon. They won’t attack without me. You can tell them, I promise. Just not yet.”

She kisses him in agreement and relaxes back into him. But some whisper in the Force tells him to leave the voice recorder running on his datapad when he goes to grab them something to eat from their favourite street vendor. 

* * * * * * *

 

He checks the datapad later when she’s in the shower. She hadn’t waited more than five minutes before she was speaking with her Master. The microphone isn’t good enough on the pad to pick up more than a garbled sense of Skywalker’s half of the conversation.

She gives him the tentative date of the attack on the base, telling him that it is not yet confirmed but likely to happen on or around that time.

Luke replies with something, then he catches the rhythm of his name.

 _It’s difficult Master_ , she says. _I believe he genuinely cares for me._

There’s a short follow up question. Perhaps— _and you_?

_I—I find I care for him too. He is so different here, maybe there is hope…_

She listens for awhile and he can’t make anything out.

_Yes, I know Master. But if he could be brought back? What would happen if he came back with me? He knows so much that would be helpful to us._

Luke’s voice was louder then, firmer. _His information has been good but it’s not enough for us to trust him completely. You must try not to become attached._

_I don’t trust him but—he asks me to stay with him every night Master. I’m so tempted…_

He looks up then as the fresher door opens and she comes out. It’s too late to turn off the playback now, she has heard her own voice repeated back to her. He has been so absorbed that he hadn’t heard the shower turn off. There is a long silence as they examine each other’s betrayal.

“I suppose neither of us can be trusted,” he says bitterly.

“You _spied_ on me,” she accuses.

“You reported something I asked you not to. I _promised_ you that you could tell them.”

She closes her eyes then and her face screws up. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t know if I could trust you. I don’t know if I can trust you.”

“Why are you here?” He feels the ground shifting under him and he thinks for a second he’s falling apart. Then he realizes it’s only one of the little earthquakes and he automatically gets up and stands with her in the reinforced doorway to the fresher.

She peers up at his face, then grabs onto him for balance as the floor shifts again. He opens his arms and she wraps herself around him. They brace themselves against the door frame.

“I’m here to get information for the Resistance,” she says. Her voice is very small.

He feels like she has punched him in the gut then he feels like the stupidest man alive. Of course that is why she is here.

She sees the look on his face. “Did you really think I would sneak away to go on holiday with Kylo Ren without telling anyone? How would I explain all the intelligence I’m getting?”

He flinches at his own stupidity, that he hadn’t even _thought_ about it. “You are failing at your mission,” he says, making his voice cold.

She stiffens and pulls away. The quake seems to be over for now. “What do you mean?”

“We have been here almost two weeks and I’ve given you only one small piece of information every day. Why haven’t you asked for more? Why haven’t you been trying to _convince_ me to tell you everything I know?” He imagines her soft mouth on him, her slim fingers, her warmth. He thinks of spilling all his secrets into her if she would just _stay_.

“I…” she trails off and looks down at the spot on his collarbone that she only stares at when she’s avoiding his eyes.

He grabs her chin and pulls it up so she is forced to look at him. “Don’t you know I would give you anything?”

“Don’t say that,” she whispers and there are tears in her eyes.

He kisses her; he can’t help it. It’s only been a few minutes since the last time but a chasm has opened up between them and he needs to feel her again. She kisses him back, hard and fierce, and he thinks maybe he isn’t so stupid after all.

* * * * * * *

 

He is wearily heading back to his quarters on the Finalizer when Hux pages his comm. He’s summoned to the conference room and no, it can’t wait.

Hux is seated alone at the long table and looks up when he comes in. He wears his mask again. The last day they had gone up to the lake for a swim and his hair under the helmet smells like pink-tinted water and snow-capped mountains.

“Successful mission?” Hux asks and his face holds its customary disdainful expression.

He takes a steadying breath of mountain breeze. He’s too tired, too _sad_ at leaving her to rise to any of the usual bait. “Fine.”

Hux presses a few buttons on the table and a three dimensional projection rises up from the centre. A planet spins on its axis. The letters spelling out Ord Mantell hover underneath it. He goes cold and everything seems to still.

Hux presses another button and a surveillance holo comes up. He and Rey walk across the casino lobby hand in hand. Another press and there is a clear view of them eating dinner together. His ghostly hand reaches out to stroke her face. He shivers, remembering the moment and the feel of her soft skin. Hux keeps tapping the button and more and more images flash past. In some he’s smiling, there’s even one or two where he’s laughing. And he’s always touching her, in every single one.

“I do like to keep an eye on you when you disappear Ren,” Hux says with a slight curl to his upper lip. “One never knows from where bills for damages will come.”

He refuses to be embarrassed. _Anger is power_ after all. But there had been no anger on Ord Mantell, no damage except inside him. _There is no emotion, only peace_ ; short-sighted Jedi ideas. His feelings for her _give_ him peace.

“At first,” Hux continues, “I was not unduly displeased. No bills came, the Supreme Leader wasn’t asking for you, all was quiet here. But the girl bothered me. She looked familiar.” Hux presses a final button and Rey’s file comes up.

He can’t stop himself from reading down the floating page, savouring the few details known about her. He had contributed heavily to the file himself after Starkiller when his obsession was just starting, long before the first time they found a different sort of battle between them. The question now is: does Hux know about the secrets that he’s been giving away? He has been far from careful.

Then he senses it. One of Hux’s hands is behind his back and in that hand there is a communicator ready to signal. Outside the room, the corridor is quietly filling with heavily armed and shielded Stormtroopers. He is caught. He wonders for a moment if Hux has told Snoke everything, then dismisses the thought. Hux is no fool. Brave though, to think he might get the call in without dying himself.

He gathers the dark side around him like a cloak and freezes Hux in place. Hux’s fingers twitch desperately and he understands. Hux is holding down a button on the communicator, the signal is given when he releases it.

Hux has a strong mind, one of the strongest he’s encountered. Still, he must try. He fills his voice with power. “You will call off the Stormtroopers and allow me to leave this ship unharmed.” He pushes the command into Hux’s mind, down past the layers of order and strategy into the soft emotions that hide below.

The Jedi call it a mind-trick and only dare pressure at the surface, afraid to damage the mind or cross the dark threshold into mind control. He has no such fears. He is only afraid of dying now, of not seeing her again. So he forces himself into Hux, uses his fear and anger at Hux’s interference to stab at his vulnerability and the invisible pains he holds tight-closed deep inside him.

He is sweating under his helmet and the smell of the mountains is chased away by the stink of his own effort, his own fear it will not be not enough.

Hux’s face is a mask of agony, his eyes rolling back into his skull, his nose pouring blood. It is more than enough. Far past more than enough. Hux is out, his body jerking slightly in the Force-Hold.

It’s somewhat surprising that Hux hadn’t set better defences. If Hux knows he is a traitor, why did he expose himself this way? It seems a very poor tactic, the epitome of arrogance and petty spitefulness to want to confront him personally.

The single door to the room is still closed and he can feel the tense waiting beyond it for the signal. He takes hold of Hux’s hand that holds the comm and squeezes it hard as he lets Hux slowly slump to the floor. Hux’s datapad is on the table and he reaches up with his other hand to tuck it into his robes. Useful.

He takes off his helmet and sets it on the table. He doesn’t need it anymore. The mask belongs to a dead man. Kylo Ren is dead, was dead as soon as he came back on this ship, before that even. He looks down at his hand over Hux’s and ignites his lightsaber. A single quick slash is enough. A second slash and he isn’t the only dead man in the room.

He gets up and walks to the door, stands to one side of it, readies himself. He drops the hand. 

* * * * * * *

 

He sleeps through hyperspace. “ _I hope you see his face whenever you close your eyes_ ,” she threw at him once, long ago. He feels a hand on his cheek, stands on a bridge, sees only red. There are many faces carved into the back of his eyelids. The most recent are covered in white plastoid armour. They do not matter, only a few do. All were killed by a dead man but the burden is passed onto him.

The beeping of the auto-pilot wakes him. He cleans himself and applies more bacta gel and rewraps his bandages. New wounds wait for their turn to scar.

He changes into the businessman’s clothes left behind in the shuttle. They feel different on this latest version of himself. He peers in the mirror at the new face he will carry to her and wonders if she will see that he died for the second time, yet lives on, staggering under the weight of his past selves.

* * * * * * *

 

She is waiting when he lands. His presence is not a surprise: messaged ahead and escorted in by a small fleet of X-Wings. Others stand in the distance. He doesn’t look at them, doesn’t want to see them. She is all that matters.

The planet is barren rock and scrubby low vegetation. Red light makes its way through drifting clouds. The sun is old and dying and the wind is cold. The strange glare reminds him of his long sleep, of red weakness, red pain.

He hands her the datapad and tells her who it came from. A different dead man. Her eyes open wide and she looks closer. Maybe he is worth something after all. Does she see that he is someone new, only lacking a name to cement himself in place?

“Thank you,” she says and accepts it, politely ignoring the sticky blood clinging to the back.

Against his will, his eyes focus on the figures behind her. “Come with me,” he says, looking at them, knowing she will not.

Her brows draw together. “Where?”

It’s not a no. “Anywhere.” He wants to touch her, feels that his hands on her might be enough. Or at least it will be something to take with him.

Her fingers were the clever ones though. She laces them with his. “Why so anxious to leave?”

He looks down at their joined hands, her fingers netting him. They have exchanged no promises. His currency was information; he doesn’t know what it bought him in the end. “I thought—” he begins, then stops. What had he thought? Anything at all?

Her face is lit in red. “Stay,” she says.

* * * * * * *

  

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Lucidlucy whose story [Manners](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7325851/chapters/16640332) (the end of chapter three specifically) was an inspiration for this one. Go read it if you like well-written and characterized Reyux smut! She also writes wonderful Reylo and Reylux [work](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucidlucy/pseuds/Lucidlucy). 
> 
> Further thanks to [DauntlessSubconscious](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DauntlessSubconscious/pseuds/DauntlessSubconscious) who read it first and gave me such encouraging feedback. :) She writes beautiful Reylo too.
> 
> This song was also an inspiration [Montreal by The Weeknd](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jbgxv8MTk-E). It starts in French but the main verses are in English - lyrics [here](http://genius.com/The-weeknd-montreal-lyrics).
> 
> I'm [Isharan](http://isharan.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. I mostly reblog Reylo, Reylux, Kylux and Reyux art and gif/photosets. Everything is tagged by ship. Come say hi! :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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